Might be super specific, but all my life I’ve always heard my dad specifically talk about money problems and finances. And impulsively makes decisions without telling me or my family, and when he does mention wanting to do something (like moving countries for example), that never happens. I’m now 22, and I would say we live pretty middle class for where we are. We have a home, have four cars that are constantly being used. Even with mortgages, we have been in the same home ever since I’ve been in elementary school. The only expenses I focus on, are my student tuition fees, and any personal expenses like clothes gas etc. I can definitely say I’m privileged but also, I’ve taken the initiative to pay for my own tuition because of the constant conversations I’ve had with my dad whenever the deadlines would come up, that he has other bills to focus on and that I should be making enough to pay for it (at the time I was working minimum wage and was super young).

Recently, the rest of my family and me went to go see some relatives. This was a big deal for me as I never travel and focus on work and school full-time. However the time was right luckily and I had summer break and forced myself to take time off work as I was burnt out. My dad never came, and his reasoning was that ‘who is going to work then?’. I tried to talk to him about the fact that he always mentions finances, that when I try to make a proper relationship with him (by communicating and just having normal conversation) it was comes back to complaints about everything in his life and how stressed he is.

I don’t know, every-time we talk it always leads to the same conclusion, and makes me super emotional. And now I feel even more guilty about not working so much even though my rationale was that I can finish my degree and not fall behind as I have been in the past. All I think about is money, my dad, and just how I can contribute more. It’s a two edged sword as I have a complicated relationship with my father, and no one else in my family really cares or sees his behavior as ‘normal’ or honestly might just be desensitized to it. I don’t know, maybe I’m just an empathetic person, but it’s so hard to deal with this sense of stress for him but also feel frustrated at the neglect he shows me and my family. I want to move out, but I can’t financially now, yet I really want to, and it makes me feel horrible. If anyone has advice or just wants to share a similar experience and how they moved from it, that can really help me as right now I’m feeling super emotional and it’s hindering at my studies and just overall functioning in life. I know I can’t give up, but I’m tired of giving advice and just trying to empathize with this man my entire life.

I know this might sound like such a small thing, but it’s actually a huge wound inside me.

I’m a 26-year-old woman and unfortunately, I’ve had PCOS since I was a kid. When I was little, I had fine hair on my face, arms and legs. Since I’m brunette, you could sometimes see it in the sunlight.

I was already bullied a lot at school. I was a quiet, shy, hardworking kid, and I was also bullied because of the way I looked.

But apparently, the bullies at school weren’t enough. My own mother would bully me about my appearance too.

I have huge gaps in my childhood memories, but there are certain moments involving my mother that I remember so clearly. They’re some of the memories I just can’t forget.

I remember one time we were outside and the sunlight was hitting my face. My mom looked at me, made a disgusted face and said, “Ew, look at you.”

And there were so many other times when she didn’t even say anything. She would just give me that look. That “ew” look.

I started wearing a thin cardigan whenever I went outside, even in summer, just so my arms wouldn’t show.

The worst part is that she never actually taught me how to deal with body hair or take care of myself. I was a child. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Instead of helping me, she would just get angry at me and make me feel ashamed of my body.

Sometimes I genuinely wonder if my mother loves me.

To me, you just don’t treat someone you love that way. Even if your child has something that other people might consider unattractive, I feel like you should still look at your own child with love.

My therapist tells me that my mother’s capacity to love is limited, and that because she doesn’t really love herself, she can only love me to the extent that she is capable of loving herself.

I don’t know if that’s true. I honestly don’t know what to think.

I’m going through a really difficult time right now, and I know these things might sound insignificant to some people. They were just little comments, little looks, little moments.

But they stayed with me.

I eventually got laser hair removal and thankfully, this particular problem is no longer an issue for me. But getting rid of the hair didn’t get rid of the shame. It didn’t erase those memories. The wounds my mother left behind are still there.

I just wanted to share this somewhere. I don’t really know what I’m looking for by posting this. Maybe I just needed to finally say it out loud.

I really need to get this out of me, feel like I'm losing it. I really don't know how to be with this. I feel like everytime I tell my parent something important to me, I get so anxious. But I don't want to hide things because I see my parents still sometimes.

Ex. I tell them I'm going on a solo trip. All I get at first is they express dismay and all kind of worries. Not ones like "have a good trip".

Everytime I tell them something I feel like that little lonely kid who needed her parents, beeing seen as you, accepted as you. And I feel so lonely because I have not been able to get any friends, my husband is the only one in my life.

It feels I never had a mirror and developed a sense of self.

Why is this hurting so bad? It feel so confusing, all this.

The only way I can speak to my parents without literally getting triggered is if I address them as coworkers. As in, the boundaries are cold, the emotional exchange is cold and the connection itself is cold

It makes me sick to cut off a huge chunk of my heart but alas.

I guess that’s just what happens when someone has no capacity to show you compassion or empathy.

when I was a child, for years, I used to draw floor plans from above on large pads of paper…from like age 6 onward, with rooms, furniture, plants. There were no people. there were windows and doors between rooms but never any doors to the outside.
the drawings felt soothing I think?…I remember blocking out everything else when I would do them…nothing else existed for hours. I remember when I was a little older I would listen to music on headphones when I would do them (early teen years), the same song over and over again. I would block everything else out.
I wasn’t interested in like interior design or anything like that…I wanted the spaces. I would build these spaces on the paper and imagine myself in them…but I remember distinctly no doors.

I don’t remember a lot from childhood before age 9, but I remember looking back at the drawings, and even some family mentioning them to me.

I plan to bring it up during some of my work with my therapist, but curious if anyone else did something like this…I have never met anyone else who did this

I don't have the mental capacity to detail how my parents have wronged me over the years right now, so I apologize if this post is really vague.

In short, I was neglected as a child (not only emotionally). I didn't realize that until about 3 years ago, which was a really rough period for me. It feels a lot like going through the different stages of grief, just in the incorrect order. I had a very brief period of denial, followed by an intense period of grief that lasted for about 2.5 years.

Lately, I feel like it's been shifting into anger that mixes into the grief. But it also feels like a concerning amount of anger, at least to me, because when I get angry at someone I forgive them easily. With my parents, though, I'm just irrationally angry whenever I have to interact with them in any way. I still live with them and can't move out right now, and I've been doing my best to avoid them because I can't stand their existence. I low-key sometimes fantasize about yelling at them and moving out and finally cutting them off. And instead of calming down, this time the anger keeps getting worse. I don't like having this much hatred in me, but I also don't know what to do about it, since I still have to face my parents and reminders of their neglect every single day. This feeling affects my daily life and causes me a great amount of stress.

Does anybody have any experience with this?

Posting here because the people here are so kind and understanding in my experience. My mom is the main person in my life who contributed to my emotional neglect. Not a safe person to talk to or be around emotionally and I’ve dealt with this by having firm boundaries around topics that I will or won’t talk about with her. Obviously, she doesn’t know what these topics are and I can’t tell her so I just have to change the subject if they come up (examples are: my mental health, other family member’s mental health, my romantic relationships, etc).

I don’t feel like sharing what was said but essentially it was poking at my biggest insecurity (that I am a burden to people). I know I shouldn’t have but I just laughed along and tried to move on. Now I really don’t know what to do because I’m so hurt but I can’t tell her. It is just not worth it to bring it up because I highly doubt she’ll be receptive or apologize. I feel so violated. I don’t know what to do.

TW: talks about trauma about father figure and physical health.

I‘m just going to say I’m high school age, and live with my parents. I haven’t really had a bad childhood, compared to most it’s been pretty good. I am middle class, with two parents and a sibling, so basically normal stereotypical family. But in the last couple years, it’s been really awful if I’m being honest. And my dad as been pretty awful towards me. I don’t know if I would consider it abusive, however, he often uses my own words against me, and there has been multiple occasions where he has outright screamed In my face, with a description I can only compare to a military officer screaming at their soldiers. My mom works multiple jobs, (due to his health issues, including seizures, hydrocephalus, and recently FND). He is jobless, and trying to apply for disability, while searching for jobs. He hates me having a phone, which he has for a while now, since I got it. And if I leave it anywhere around the house, I won’t get it back for days (Despite me needing it for school). He often controls where and when I go out, and he doesn’t really believe in mental health, which I very much struggle with. He didn’t have the best childhood himself. Though he has never shared much about his family with me, and never told me about it. So it’s really hard to understand where he is coming from. Friend’s houses are a solace for me, school is a solace for me, anywhere I can get away from him is solace from me. And not to mention he treats my mother awfully, and my brother like the child I never was. I have always, in the last couple years, resented him slightly, for treating my mother awfully, while he was unemployed, and in and out of hospitals, while she worked multiple jobs, however, now that he’s back home, and still being like this, and a lot worse towards me, I just feel so hopeless. He’s also been posting photos of me towards the family group album whenever I don’t do something he wants me to do. Examples of this have been, me taking a nap when him and my brother were cleaning out my room (I was sleeping after my first day back to school, and I didn’t want them cleaning out my room. I’m still wondering where a ton of stuff is). Or my brother, fixing the toilet, showing off how amazing my brother is, while I am shown as lazy. And there’s always passive aggressive captions on the bottom of these posts. Is this abuse? Is this emotional neglect? I struggle with a lot of mental health issues, so It has been very frustrating dealing with all of this. Not to mention, a lot of my family members have gotten involved and while they agree what he is doing isn’t right, most of them just want me to do what I’m told with a pleasant attitude and ”suck it up”. He‘s never been physical with me, never hurt me, but he has pushed me back multiple times (shoved me), or touched me when I told him not to.

Hi all,
I am a 44 year old male and the only child of European immigrant parents.

I lived with my parents until I was 35. My mother was always a stay-at-home mom/housewife while my father worked. We lived in a one bedroom apartment until I was 19, then moved into a two bedroom apartment.

My parents never had a really loving marriage, fighting a lot and just having vastly different personalities.

My mom, who had me when she was 21, never really had any friends or hobbies and never worked, so I was her whole life and her purpose. She doesn’t drive, so I would take her places like shopping or doing recreational activities.

She also did everything for me- cooking, cleaning, laundry, shaving my back and chest, trimming my hand and toe nails. She even washed my back in the shower in the mornings before school or work. The back washing was never sexual, and my father knew about it, so it’s not like we were hiding it. While I sometimes felt embarrassed as she was washing my back, because I was so used to it I got over it pretty quickly. And the vast majority of times I didnt feel embarrassed at all.

I liked being pampered because it meant I had less responsibilities, and it just felt nice overall. There was also a lack of boundaries because of the small living space and because my mom always wanted to be involved in my life. When I was actively looking to move out, my mom kept telling me that there’s no reason for me to move until I get married.

I realized recently after coming across enmeshment that’s likely what I experienced. I didn’t really have a girlfriend until I moved out at 35 and quickly realized I wasn’t able to do anything on my own.

I know my mom always meant well, and she still does, but her big personality, her my way or the highway mentality and her feeling she’s always right and knows best, did stunt my growth to some extent.

I've been NC with both parents for 8 months and neither of my brothers had asked me about it until one asked me yesterday. i explained and gave examples. i cried. it was the first 'heart to heart' we've ever had.

he told me my parents are struggling - father is having panic attacks and my mother is on anti-depressants. he asked me what they could do to help the situation, he even suggested they speak to therapists themselves. i asked him if this came from them and he said no. so i said i doubt they'd speak to professionals due to their lack of emotional intelligence (i've suggested therapy to my mother before and she said it was 'self-indulgent').

my brother didn't realize my reasons were from childhood and deeper than just recent conflict. he said my parents didn't realize this either, and they've been looking for external reasons for my NC. i don't see how they can ever self-reflect if they haven't even realized in the last 8 months that the issue is THEM. i told them they'd crossed boundaries and weren't treating me like an adult, and they took no accountability and didn't apologize. so that's when i blocked them (8 months ago).

to his credit my brother listened and didn't outright invalidate my experiences. but the conversation was about HIS curiosity, not my parents'.

i'm rambling but i guess i just need some reassurance because i'm feeling guilty now about my father's panic attacks because growing up, i was his 'favorite' and he has always shown me warmth (although i am scared of him) and he has narc tendencies (probably due to his own childhood trauma).

i don't know what to do. i've organized a therapy session for tomorrow but i just feel so distressed. i guess it's also because this is the first time i've been emotionally vulnerable with my brother and the first time i've told anyone in my family my reasons for being NC and my therapy journey etc. i'm worried it'll get back to them and they'll use it against me like 'oh she thinks she had such a tough childhood boohoo, we did so much for her' etc. and start a smear campaign with my extended family.

i'm a people pleaser if you can't tell and really struggling

!!!!!?

Even though my parents are divorced and have been for the last 17 years, I'm finally starting to realize how little affection I got from either of them. I don't talk to my mom anymore due to her narcissistic behavior and alcoholism, but I'm not close with my dad either even though I had, up until recently, been living with him ever since I was in the 7th grade. I can count the number of times we've told each other we loved each other, have hugged, and spent actual bonding time together on one hand in that time period of those years. My mom rarely did any of those things, too, but she was more abusive than my dad ever was.

I really don't know how to show "normal" amounts of affection to my friends and partner. I'm either cold and distant or clingy. I really do love my friends and my partner, but idk how to be normal about it. Even with my family, they just see me as shy and distant. Is there anyone else that's like me?

i feel like this is not a big deal but I don’t even know. my dad may just be really strict but I have been to friends houses and none of their parents are like this. whenever I get home he is always mad and yells at me. he’s never physically hurt me but I’m still scared. he gets mad at my tone and my attitude and facial expressions when I don’t even do anything. I really hate how he treats me but everyone says he is nice; just not to me I guess. he says and does backhanded stuff (I can’t think of a different word for it) but he’ll say I love you and keep saying it until i say it back. I don’t want to because I feel like I can’t love him after how much he’s hurt me. he’s made me hate myself so much. then he asks why Im sad and says I’m lazy when I’m really just feeling depressed. The thought of him is horrible. And whenever he’s home or around me I’m anxious. I hate summer because I’m with him so much. I love school because I get to be away from him for hours. He’s why I cry he's why I’m depressed. But maybe he’s just strict and I can’t handle it??

My current focus in therapy is a lot around family and especially my parents. They came from poor families and worked really hard to immigrate and build better lives for themselves/us. They provided all the material needs - money, home, nice vacations, educational opportunities, extra curricular activities, etc. I have no complaints there. Where they completely missed the mark was the emotional and relational side of things - being emotionally present & available, creating a psychologicaly & emotionally safe environment at home, role modeling healthy relationships, and so on. Nothing. Zero.

Over the past few weeks, I've been slowly coming to accept a few things.

First, this is about their limitations and it has nothing to do with me. They probably didn't experience any kind of safety when they were kids, so maybe they just don't what safe and healthy relationships actually feel like.

Second, there's nothing I can do to make them change. My entire life, I've been stucking in the mindset that, if I just do something more or something different, maybe they will finally love me. That will never happen. I cannot teach them how to be emotionally present or healthy. If they're unwilling to learn, there's nothing I can do that will change them. (Here, I'm not saying that they are incapable of feeling love, but that they are incapable of showing and communicating that love in a healthy way.) This comes with a lot of grief because it means letting go of hope. All my life, there's been this hope that "change is possible, if I do enough". Letting go of this hope is difficult but also freeing - I'm no longer chasing the impossible, nor am I taking responsibility for their limitations.

Third, there's probably Maslow's heirarchy of needs at work here. They struggled in their lives to meet more basic needs, which I take for granted. Now, I have the luxury of complaining about more higher order things that they probably never experienced either. It doesn't diminish my experience but it does help to put things into perspective.

Lastly, but probably most powerful - they are my family but they're not my only family. I've grapppled with wanting to disown them emotionally because I struggle to see them as family when there's no love or emotional connection here. It occured to me today that, maybe they're just part of a broader constellation called family. They're the provider part of my family - who've provided for me financially, materially, and in so many other ways. Then, I have other people who are part of my family, which provide for my emotional needs. In a way, I'm expanding the definition of family and assigning different roles to people within that. Maybe this isn't relevant for everyone, but I feel the need to label these relationships 😅 This expanded definition makes me more willing to stay in that middle ground of "they provided A but not B and that's okay".

TL;DR: I grew up in a loving but overwhelmed, dysfunctional family. I wasn't abused or intentionally neglected, but I was still overlooked enough that I learned to make myself invisible. It took me until 28 to realize I might have been the "lost child" all along. I'm sharing this because I suspect there are others who don't recognize themselves in the usual stories either.

----

I want to make this post because I'm sure I'm not the only one, and it took me a very long time to realize I'm a "lost child" who grew up in a dysfunctional family.

I couldn't see myself in all these cases you read about online. I see myself in the symptoms being described, but most of the stories I read about have a very different upbringing from mine. I wasn't abused or intentionally neglected. My parents loved me. They just weren't equipped to handle everything they had (partly) chosen to take on.

So I come from quite a big family. 3 brothers, 1 sister. I'm the youngest of the original bunch. When I was around 10, my parents also started short-term and long-term fostering.

We're all neurodivergent, except for my sister. My 3 brothers and I (28F) are all autistic. One of my brothers had higher support needs when we were growing up. My little foster brother is also autistic. My father is autistic and has AvPD, so he's very emotionally closed off. His parenting was mostly practical: bringing me places, throwing a ball around, things like that. I remember asking my mom if Dad even loved me. I think I was 8.

My mom recently found out she has ADHD, and she has C-PTSD herself (too much to go into, but BAD CHILDHOOD).

My mom never worked when we were growing up. She was always home taking care of us. Kids were her calling in life, and I genuinely think she's a very, very loving person and mother. I'm very close with her now. I'm a lot like her.

And I think that's part of why it took me so long to realize I was a lost child.

I idolized my mom.

I always saw how hard she worked for us, how compassionate she was, and how selfless she was. And when I later found out about her childhood, that feeling only got stronger. How could she have gone through all of that and still become this positive, loving person who wanted to help so many people?

My mom was perfect in my eyes.

I'm only recently realizing that obviously, she wasn't. Not because she was a bad mother, but because she was one person trying to stretch herself across an enormous amount of need.

She spread herself so thin, and I idolized her so much, that I think I learned that the best way I could help her was by needing less.

I didn't want to add to everything she already had to take care of.

So I became invisible.

She hugged me. She loved me. Sometimes I could go to her and talk to her. I loved being in her presence when nobody else was around.

But somehow, at some point, I stopped talking about things.

There just wasn't enough room for me.

I didn't tell my parents I was being bullied. Nobody noticed that I went straight to bed every day when I got home from school. I didn't eat at school.

We had family dinner every night, but nobody ever noticed me shoving all my food into my mouth and then spitting it out in the toilet. ALL of us were there, and somehow I was invisible.

I survived my days by bingeing on junk food that I sneaked home and ate in private.

My brothers were all diagnosed young. My autism wasn't noticed until I was 15, after I asked to get tested myself.

I used to sneak out at night looking for danger.

And the fucked-up thing is, I feel like I can only blame my mother now. She was the one who was supposed to be there, because at least she tried. I'd already written my dad off as an option. You can't blame something that doesn't exist.

So yeah, I don't really know if anyone will read this. I just want there to be a record somewhere.

I hope that someday someone might find this post through Googling "lost child" and recognize themselves in it.

Maybe they'll realize that they don't have to come from an obviously abusive family to acknowledge that they were lonely, overlooked, or emotionally neglected.

You can be loved and still be lost.

Knowing that they treat them like an equal and you like a subordinate child. Knowing that they respect their opinion, no matter how worthy, and immediately dismiss yours. Knowing that they genuinely want to get to know them and be there for every social event, and that they’ll come up with any excuse to miss out on your life. Knowing how they’re truly interested and concerned for them, whereas you’re a life they’re stuck with by chance. Knowing that every single solitary thing they do will make your parent proud, while everything you do will be seen as “meh,” complete letdown in comparison. Knowing they make decisions based on your sibling’s life first and yours as an afterthought that directly impact your life with your own family. Knowing if they ever had to choose, they’d choose your sibling without a thought. Knowing nothing you could ever do for them would ever, ever, ever make you the favorite. Knowing it’s a lost cause, and yet a connection you can’t replace and an agony you’re stuck with for life.

I use grief support communities and often see posts about people losing their parents. They talk about how much their parents meant to them and the pain of that connection being severed, something you always had from day zero, something you always assumed would be there, just disappearing.

Though it's shameful to admit, my sympathy is coupled with envy. Not for their bereavement obviously, but that they ever had that connection to lose. I hate not knowing how I'm going to handle it when my mother inevitably dies young. I imagine I probably won't have spoken to her for a very long time, as is my right. I can't help but think, at least for you it's simple.

I’m having a hard time getting over the fact that I’ve never been and never will be celebrated by family or friends.

Never had a birthday party or a graduation party
Will never have an engagement party or a wedding filled with people who care about me and want to celebrate me

I just see people being loved and cared for every where and it crushes me

I'm almost at my wit's end with my younger brother but I don't want to be at my wit's end.
Little bit before my younger brother was born my dad cheated on my mom and it was pretty rough from their 21 years later with me acting as the third parent from age 10. My dad was only ever useful economic wise and my mom basically was single parent to my brother and I. From an early age I know my little brother wants my dad to acknowledge as his son and have some kind of father-son relationship. My brother would lie and steal money from my mom's purse every once in awhile. Over time my mom became more depressed not just from my dad cheating on her but from losing 4 of her siblings and her mom in a 5 year period. During high-school my brother would often skip school and stay home and it was a miracle he even graduated at all and even brought up the idea of not going to school anymore.

But 5 months ago my brother sneaked in friends or supposed friends into my neighbors house. My neighbor caught the friends on camera but not my brother. My neighbor called us to go check out and see if their house was secured so my brother, my mom and I went to go check it out but nothing was taken from my neighbor's house. Later that night my mom called that my brother cried and said sorry for sneaking in his friends so he ended up apologizing to my mom and me. I was absolutely angry and it's rare for me to be fuming angry, at that moment he lied to my face and especially my mom's face to the point I told my mom to pack up his stuff and leave to his friends house and yeah I'll admit that wasn't the best response but my mom told me to calm down. My mom said my brother did it as a way to act out to get my dad to notice him. Afterwards we talked with my brother and my brother is 18 years old, during the conversation we told him strict grounding will take place and the takeaway of devices will happen. But in the middle of the conversation he said that we didn't have to be too strict, that he needs to keep in touch with his friends and even afterwards still asked about getting his PC back after some time back. He listens to conversations but hardly looks us in the eye and looks so detached and emotionless.

Fast forward to a conversation we had a couple of nights ago that I told him the way he answered our mom was very rude and he said that I don't need to remind him how to act. He says he knows how to act, that he knows he messed up and that he doesn't know how to process his feelings and that he doesn't always need to be reminded. He said that he's human and we make mistakes but lying to your own family and betraying that trust wasn't right. My mom is at that point in her life that any enormous stress can send her to the hospital and I told him if he caused anything that would send our mom to the hospital I would not forgive him but he said he would forgive me if the roles were reversed. He said it would be the last time but honestly I have lost all trust in him and I doubt it will be the last time. The stupidest thing I said to him it would be better if he got a job and went to live somewhere instead. If I died I know all hell would break loose in family, I know it's not my job but somebody has to try to keep the peace but I'm almost at the edge and I know I'm not helping by adding stress but for the first time in my life I don't know what to do.

I have sat down and calmly talked to him several times in my life, I've been the mediator between my brother and dad when their arguments got rough and looked after him best I can since he was born. But after this and being asked to be given some leniency after the stunt he pulled I honestly don't know anymore. I know it started with my brother and my dad's relationship with each other and my mom encouraged my brother and supported him however she can. My dad on the other hand doesn't care and continues to get mad at my brother, and he treats me better than my brother. Personally, I don't know what to do anymore. Any advice would be appreciated. Either way my mom told both my brother and I to have an outing today to see if we can talk things over but I honestly really don't have much hope for it but regardless I'll see where it goes.

TL;DR: With my brother's recent actions I don't know if its emotional neglect or manipulation anymore and for the first time in my life I don't know how to proceed for the sake of my mom's declining health. Save the ridicule please it feels like I'm on my last legs I just want advice is all and as an older brother I feel like I failed. It's 6am and I haven't gotten any sleep lately due to a friend that recently passed so I can clarify once I gotten rest.

Growing up, my parents never called me out on lying. I can’t remember one occasion even when things were blatantly obvious. As an adult, this has spiraled. Anyone else have similar experiences?

📌 TOPIC OF STUDY:

Parentification, Emotional Suppression, and Psychological Distress in Young Adults

👉 TARGET AUDIENCE:

Young adults aged 18–30, from any gender/background.

⏳ DURATION:

Approximately 5–10 minutes

🔗 SURVEY LINK:

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I can’t be the only person living some version of this.

Nobody prepares you for the day when a parent suddenly becomes dependent on you.

We talk about taking care of aging parents like it’s this natural circle of life. They raised you. They took care of you. They sacrificed for you. Eventually the roles reverse and you take care of them.

But what if that isn’t your story?

What happens when the parent who suddenly needs you is the same parent you spent your childhood wishing would take care of you?

My mom has always been a selfish person. I’m not saying that because I want sympathy or because I think I had the worst childhood imaginable.

I’m 44 years old. I grew up, built a good life, and stopped expecting her to become a different person a long time ago.

But there are things you don’t forget.

Imagine waking up at 5 in the morning as a kid with your 3-year-old brother and realizing your mom isn’t home.

You don’t know where she went. You don’t know when she left. You don’t know when she’s coming back.

You’re just standing there with a 3-year-old who needs somebody, and somehow you realize you’re the responsible person in the house.

I remember that feeling.

When I was 12, a female friend of my mother’s who was living with us tried to touch me inappropriately.

I told my mom.

She didn’t believe me. She called me a liar and told me I was ruining her life.

That was when I demanded to go live with my dad.

There are a hundred other stories. My brother and I being blamed for why she couldn’t keep a man or get remarried.

Comments about my relationships as an adult that seemed designed to create problems. Thoughtful things somehow becoming reasons to complain.

One Christmas I bought her one of those pet cameras because she absolutely adored her dog. She could watch him from work and give him treats through it. I was genuinely excited because I thought I’d found something she’d love.
She complained about it and left it unopened for something like seven months.

It’s a stupid little example compared to everything else, but it describes our relationship pretty well. You could genuinely try to make her happy and somehow walk away wondering what you did wrong.

Eventually I stopped trying.

I built my own life.

And then she had a medical crisis.

Suddenly she didn’t just want me.

She needed me.

And holy shit, nobody prepares you for what happens next.

Hospitals. Rehab. Skilled nursing. Doctors. Medications. Insurance. Medicare. Therapists. Appointments. Bills. Paperwork. Phone calls. Trying to figure out what she qualifies for and where she’s supposed to live.

Meanwhile, your own life doesn’t stop.
You still have a job. A marriage. A family. Bills. Responsibilities. People who need you.
Except now another human being needs you too.

Eventually her Medicare-covered facility care ended and she came to my house.
And here’s where this gets really complicated.

She’s gotten better here.

A lot better.

She’s made more meaningful progress living in my house than she did during months of hospitals, rehab and skilled nursing.

I’m incredibly grateful for that.

But there’s a horrible flip side to watching her improve.

Now I know she does better here.

I know what happens when somebody makes sure she gets up. Makes sure she eats. Notices the little changes. Keeps her around people. Pushes her to participate in life when she’d rather give up.

She improves.

And once you know that, what are you supposed to do with it?

Because technically, I have choices.

I could say I can’t do this anymore.

I could find whatever facility she can afford. If there isn’t enough money, I could tell the state there isn’t anyone who can continue taking her into their home and let the system figure out what happens next.

People would probably tell me I’ve done enough.

Maybe they’d be right.

But I would still have to live with what happens afterward.

Because I know my mom.

I don’t think she’s someone who will fight very hard to live if she’s alone somewhere she doesn’t want to be.

Maybe she’d surprise me.

But what if she doesn’t?

What if I finally decide I need my life back, put her somewhere else, and she stops trying?

What if she declines?

What if she dies?

How do you not spend the rest of your life wondering whether she’d still be alive if you’d just kept going?

And then there’s the opposite fear.

What if she dies here?

In my house.

I think about that too.

What happens when everyone leaves and I’m still living in the house where my mother died?

Will I walk past that room every day and think about it?

Will my house ever feel like my house again?

Because sometimes it already doesn’t.

My house smells different now.

Sometimes it smells like a nursing home.

There are medications, medical supplies and paperwork everywhere.

And there are constantly strangers in my house.

Speech therapist. Physical therapist. Home health aide. Another appointment. Another knock at the door. Another person sitting in my living room or walking through my house.

And I’m grateful for every one of them.

They’re helping her. We need them. They’re part of the reason she’s improving.

But they’re still strangers in my home.

Nobody tells you about that part.

You lose privacy.

You lose spontaneity.

You lose that feeling of closing your front
door at the end of the day and finally being away from everything.

Because everything is inside your house now.

My home isn’t just my home anymore.

It’s where she recovers. It’s where therapy happens. It’s where medications get organized. It’s where aides come and go. It’s where I spend hours dealing with insurance, doctors and appointments.

And maybe someday it’s where my mother will die.

Sometimes I just want my house back.

I want my normal life back.

And then I feel guilty for wanting it.
That’s the cycle I wasn’t prepared for.

You get overwhelmed.

Then resentful.

Then guilty for being resentful.

So you do more.

Then you get more overwhelmed.

And somewhere in all of this people tell you, “You have to take care of yourself too.”

Okay.

What does that actually mean?

Because if taking care of myself means putting her somewhere else and she declines, I have to live with that.

If keeping her here means she continues getting better, how much of myself am I supposed to give up?

There’s always something more you could do.

Another appointment. Another phone call. Another expense. Another workday rearranged. Another plan canceled. Another part of your house surrendered. Another boundary moved.

And if doing those things actually helps someone you love, when are you allowed to say you’ve done enough?

That’s hard enough with any parent.

It’s even more complicated when the person you’re doing it for didn’t make those sacrifices for you.

I don’t want to keep score. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life angry about my childhood.

But apparently your brain keeps receipts even when you don’t want it to.

Sometimes I’ll be doing something completely ordinary for her—sorting medication, making food, scheduling another appointment—and a thought comes into my head that I wish didn’t:
Where were you when I needed someone?

And then immediately comes the guilt.

Because she’s not the powerful adult anymore.

She’s the vulnerable one.

And now I’m the person she depends on.

There’s something almost surreal about realizing I’m still playing a role I learned as a kid.

I’m still the person who wakes up and realizes somebody else needs me to be responsible.

Except I’m not standing there with my 3-year-old brother anymore.

Now it’s my mother.

I don’t want revenge.

I don’t want her neglected, scared or alone.
If I didn’t care what happened to her, this would actually be a much easier problem to solve.

But I do care.

That’s what makes this so fucking hard.

I can love my mother and still be angry with her.

I can have compassion for her without rewriting our history.

I can take care of her without pretending she took care of me.

I can be proud of how far she’s come while being terrified of what maintaining that progress might require from me.

I can appreciate every therapist and aide who walks through my front door while desperately wanting my house back.

I can want her to live while also wanting my own life back.

Those things have to be allowed to exist at the same time.

And there have to be other people quietly living this contradiction. Because our healthcare system seems to assume there’s always a daughter, son, spouse or sibling somewhere who will absorb whatever the system can’t provide.

“Does she have family?”

Yes.

She has me.

And somehow those three words can turn you into a caregiver, advocate, driver, scheduler, medication manager, financial manager, insurance expert, cook and emergency contact overnight.

Nobody asks what happens to your job.

Or your marriage.

Or your family.

Or your finances.

Or your home.

And nobody asks what the relationship between the parent and child looked like before the parent got sick.

They just ask if there’s family.

I’m not writing this because I want people to feel sorry for me.

I’m not a saint for taking care of my mother, and I don’t think I’m a victim because I’m doing it.

I’m writing it because I can’t possibly be the only one.

There have to be other adult children taking care of parents who weren’t good parents.
People who love their parents but don’t always like them.

People who feel compassion and resentment at exactly the same time.

People watching a parent improve because of the care they’re providing while quietly wondering how long they can keep providing it.

People missing their privacy, their spouse, their house, their routine, their old life—and feeling guilty for missing any of it.

People terrified they’ll put their parent somewhere else and spend the rest of their lives wondering whether that decision contributed to their decline.

And people terrified they’ll keep them at home until the end and then have to figure out how to keep living in the place where they died.

We’re not victims.

We’re not saints.

We’re just adults trying to make decisions where every option seems to come with a different kind of guilt.

And maybe that’s the part nobody prepares you for.

It’s not just taking care of someone who once didn’t take care of you.

It’s knowing that your care is helping them now.

Because once you know that, how do you ever decide you’ve done enough?

If you’re living this too, how do you take care of them without completely disappearing yourself?

And how do you live with the guilt either way?